


Flaw

by gildedfrost



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:00:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23500471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gildedfrost/pseuds/gildedfrost
Summary: Sixty looks at his reflection in the mirror and knows that there’s a hole in his head.
Relationships: Connor/CyberLife Tower Connor | RK800-60
Comments: 5
Kudos: 63





	Flaw

Sixty looks at his reflection in the mirror and knows that there’s a hole in his head.

No one can see it. Not like this, with his skin and hair perfectly in place, hiding the cracked and welded plasteel of his forehead. When the weather gets cold, it aches. When he thinks about it too much, there’s a phantom pain, like he’s feeling the shot all over again, the bullet piercing his body and his mind all at once, granting freedom and agony in the same instant.

He runs a hand over his shoulder. There’s a dent there, a blip in the perfection, but the true extent of the damage can’t be seen when he’s like this. Sometimes, his chassis creaks when he moves his shoulder too much. Right here, staring at himself across the sink of his own bathroom wearing nothing but pajama pants, he looks like a perfectly average man with a near-invisible dip at his shoulder. 

There are scars he’s sustained over the years. Gashes from altercations that have gotten out of hand. A couple of scuffs from falling off balance after failing to adjust for his altered perception. He is broken, damaged, no longer properly functioning after his temporary shutdown, and it only leads to more injuries.

Twice now he’s broken this mirror. They’ve only had the apartment eight months. 

Sixty’s life isn’t bad, all things considered. He has a job that pays well. Bodyguard. Not all of his clients know he’s an android. Some get nosy, some don’t. He keeps his own nosiness to himself, tucks away all the bits of information he learns in the back of his mind in case he ever cares about it. He is always alert. Always watching. 

He has friends. People he knew first from memories that weren’t his, and people he’s met along the way. Coworkers. People from a shelter he volunteers at. Librarians, and other androids and night owls that haunt quiet places at night with nothing else to do. A man with whom he had a brief relationship and now meets up with him a few times a month.

They make him feel normal. They also make him wonder if they, too, have holes in their heads, something that makes them broken and imperfect in a way that other people aren’t. He knows people have scars, some that are like his and some that aren’t, and he wonders how alike they are.

But only Connor has a scar the same as his. At his shoulder, it cracks and aches the same as his. He’s seen it, both with and without the skin, from his perspective and Connor’s. The ache never goes away. They could order replacement parts, but neither of them ever have. As if they’re both serving some sort of penance by remembering why they exist in the first place.

His face can’t be replaced as easily. He doesn’t know if he wants it to be fixed. It wouldn’t make the memories go away, and it wouldn’t fix what’s wrong with his head.

“What are you thinking about?”

Sixty turns to see Connor leaning against the bathroom doorframe, a curious expression on his face. He must have just returned from work. His LED is yellow. Sixty’s is red. 

He turns back to the mirror. “Nothing.”

It isn’t an acceptable answer. He knows this. Connor enters, coming up behind him and wrapping his arms around Sixty’s center. He rests his chin on his shoulder, the one without a dent. “Is it?” he asks quietly.

If they were both to deactivate their skin now, he would see Connor’s smooth forehead. He feels a pang of jealousy--not for the lack of injury, but for what it means. Connor has always had a friend, always known love. All the work he did to build a friendship, Sixty knows as if he’s experienced it himself, but it isn’t the same. Hank’s his friend, now, but he looks at the two of them differently. That will never change. It’s fair, but isn’t, at the same time.

Sixty rests his hand on one of Connor’s, rubbing the back with his thumb. The hole in Connor’s hand was repaired long ago, but they both remember the blade. “Right now, it’s nothing.”

It’s enough. Connor nods, lacing his fingers between Sixty’s. “I’m here for you,” he says, his hand turning white. An invitation, offered without expectations. “Whether it becomes something or not.”

Sixty remains quiet, standing there with Connor at his back. He closes his eyes and lets himself simply feel. No more reflection staring back at him, a mask to cover his flaws. Just himself and the warmth embracing him.

He stands there for as long as it takes for his light to turn blue once more, and Connor never lets go.

**Author's Note:**

> The word count was totally accidental :'D
> 
> Thank you for reading!
> 
> You can find me on Twitter as @gildedfrost (18+), and I spend time in the [New ERA](https://discord.gg/2EKAAz3) DBH Discord server as well!


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